Pilgrimage
by Bolshevik Muppet
Summary: The long-winded answer to a simple question: what if Shepard was a quarian?
1. Eden Prime

My name is Duya'Hermas nar Shandal, and I am on my Pilgrimage. The Lifeships in the center of the Migrant Fleet provide the food that keep all of us alive from day to day, but they aren't perfect (is _anything_ in the Fleet _ever_ perfect?). The irrigation is inefficient, the fertilization is jerry-rigged, not to mention that the ships themselves were never meant to sustain so much plant life – it's a wonder they manage to feed us at all. So I made that the focus of my journey; I left _Shandal_ in search of better farming technologies. The turians share our dextro-protein biology and our diet but they're not exactly the sedentary type, and our political situation with them has grown a little precarious since the geth started getting antsy again. The asari are too busy Managing the Galaxy to help a lone quarian who wants her belly filled a little more often, and the salarians have better things to do with their forty years than _farm_. Hanar, krogan, volus – forget them, they're all too busy with their own problems.

That left me with the up-and-coming star of the galaxy, the race shoving their way into the spotlight, the race whose most peaceful and well-managed colony, devoted to farming, was often described as Paradise – the humans. I've always felt a kinship with them, seeing as how they're marginalized, discriminated against, shoved to the side for little reason that I can see other than that they sometimes seem a little pushy – they're like us, but unlike us they don't make do with their life on the sidelines, and I admire that. Not only was Eden Prime everything I was looking for in my Pilgrimage, but the humans were using it to advance their galactic goals – that is, to prove that they can interact with the rest of the galaxy in a peaceful manner. All races are welcome on Eden Prime. Even quarians.

It was easy, though time-consuming, to get there in the first place. I took only the poorest-quality berths, brought enough food and water to last the trip. My arrival on the lush garden world brings us to the present, as I disembark from the supply freighter that carried me the last leg of the journey. I wobble as my feet touch the ground, and I'm struck by a sense of falling – I've never been on an actual _planet_ before, and the sheer sense of space is so dizzying I almost fall over. The crewmember leaning against the docking ramp to finish filling out his cargo manifest puts his hand out just in time to keep me from faceplanting, and we share a brief nod before I scurry away in a desperate attempt to rid myself of embarrassment. The spaceport attaches to a railway, and I go towards it, remembering that the huge rails that cut across the planet like the trajectory of a mass relay jump carry trains that have _fields_ on them, real live fields that _grow_ things, and I can't think of a better place to start. There's not a train in station at the moment, so I approach the main building and enter.

Once I'm back in, I feel a little more comfortable, and the sky stops reeling above me. I take a minute to rest as I look around – it's still not as cramped as the interior of a flotilla ship, and there's some empty space and a little garden with a stumpy tree in the center of the open area. The large windows open on one side to the rail and platform, and on the other side to the port where I had just landed, where a few ships of various sizes are visible. Behind the desk inside the building sat a few human workers, most of them looking bored where one or two worked furiously at their terminals. I slowly approach, the prospect of actually interacting with people to find out the information I need making me feel a bit sick inside. The man who glances up at me looks briefly disgusted, and the pit of my stomach sinks even more. Luckily he remembers that Eden Prime is supposed to be multicultural, or he realizes that he looks like he's about to vomit all over his desk, because his expression mutates into one of forced pleasure. It looks like someone's put hooks into the sides of his mouth and pulled them apart.

"Hello, madame," he says, folding his hands on the desk in what I think might be an imitation of the hotel concierges I've seen in some human vids. "How… uh… how may I _help_ you?" I take a deep breath before I speak, and I'm sure he can hear it rattling nervously through my suit's air filter. I shift from foot to foot for a moment.

"I was, I was hoping that you, um, could provide me some information," I begin. Something out the window catches my eye, but I don't look over for fear that he'll think I'm planning something suspicious. He clearly doesn't have any special love for quarians and I'm not about to push my luck now that I'm finally here. "You see, I'm here on my Pilgri – uh, I'm on a _special mission_ from the Migrant Fleet to obtain, uh, new technologies that'll allow us to –"

My stammering explanation is cut off by the loudest noise I've ever heard in my life. It sounds like someone set off a bomb inside my head, and the fuzz clears from my brain just in time for me to feel a shockwave that shakes the whole building, even breaking one of the windows. I grab on to the desk to keep myself up; the workers surge to their feet with gasps of surprise. Once I'm upright again I whirl to the direction of the noise, and suddenly I realize I _should_ have looked over when I sensed that something in my peripheral vision – now there's a huge black shape jutting from the horizon, fatter at the bottom and tapering to a wicked point at the top. I can't tell how far away the thing is, but at least it's close enough for the smoke rising around it to be visible.

Once the awful noise is over, the lack of it is eerie. I can hear myself breathing heavily, and the last few pieces of plasglass in the broken frame tinkle to the ground. It's a good few minutes before one of the desk workers speaks up again.

"What… the fuck… was _that_?" he breathes, his voice shaking. There are a few startled murmurs from the rest, but no one moves to investigate – and despite the terror that makes me glad my exosuit's waste systems are in full working order, I'm _curious_. The men stare as I walk over to the empty window frame and peer out. Nothing in particular is visible, except that spire sticking from the ground and the smoke now wreathing it like a veil. I look back, then forward, then back again, then I roll my shoulders, shuffle my feet, and step onward.

---

It's not long before I come across more signs of what's going on – namely, a colonist fleeing from something, screaming at the top of his lungs. I try to catch him, or at least slow him down a little to ask what's happened, but he takes one look at me and runs faster. I'm left standing in confusion until I hear a buzzing, clicking noise that chills my blood. I duck behind one of the cargo boxes dominating the station platform as I hear the stomping footsteps that haunt the dreams of my people. Next appears the tracking light, followed rapidly by the smooth white casing of a geth trooper. It whirs constantly as it scans the platform, pointing its rifle along with its line of sight. I creep further behind the box so it doesn't see me, and in a moment or two it moves on, leaving me to catch my breath. _Geth!_ Beyond the Veil! If they're out in any force, it could mean the end of the quarians if they find the Fleet! Something coherent in the back of my screaming brain says _this is excellent information for your Pilgrimage_ and absent of any other sane thought, I move on; at least if I die horribly the rest of the galaxy will follow shortly after.

There don't seem to be any more active geth on my path. I see quite a few _inactive_ ones, with holes blown in them, and as I go on I spot a few human bodies as well – some civilians, but also ones in armor emblazoned with the Alliance insignia. I hear gunfire in the distance, and since I'm fairly certain the geth wouldn't shoot at each other, I go towards the sounds of conflict. The number of civilian corpses decreases, and soon I come across what looks to be a hastily-assembled base made out of whatever was lying around, doing little more than providing cover. Geth are swarming the stacked boxes, and they're being steadily blown away by a human in white Alliance armor that pops up from cover every so often. She grits her teeth and favors one arm slightly, obviously injured, but her skill is such that soon the charging geth have all fallen.

I approach, stepping over bodies – one of the geth isn't _quite_ dead and grabs at my leg, pulling me to the ground. My foot kicks out reflexively and knocks it in the 'jaw;' the neck tears and coolant bubbles out as its hand goes limp. The Alliance marine's alerted to my presence by the noise, and she starts to fire again as I pull myself to my feet. Rifle shots whiz by my head, one clips my shoulder, I throw myself down again and clap my hand over the suit breach. "STOP!" I holler, hoping the marine can hear me over the steady chugging of her gun. Sure enough the firing stops, and she responds to my shout.

"Damn _quarian! _Get out here so I can kill you!" Her voice is pained from her injury, but the slight thickness that lends is overpowered by the sheer venomous hatred in her tone. Before I open my mouth again and risk another flurry of bullets, I crawl over the fallen and press my back against the opposite side of the barrier. There's a discarded pistol near me, and I grab it – I'm no sharpshooter by any means, but I've done some target practice just in case, and it's worth having a little protection against a possibly-crazed, heavily-armed woman.

"I'm not with them," I say, realizing too late that now she can shoot me even _more_ easily and trying to make my voice sound like I'm still lying in my previous spot. She doesn't fall for it, and I hear her leaning over the barrier just before I feel the thunk of the muzzle of her rifle against my helmet. I squeeze my eyes shut in anticipation of having my brains splattered all over my visor, but she doesn't pull the trigger. Instead, I hear her voice again.

"You got one chance. Explain yourself."

"I'm, I'm," I squeak. "I'm here on m-my Pilgrimage and there w-was this noise and – and I d-don't have anything to do with t-the geth, I swear, I _swear_, please don't kill me!"

The marine seems placated – enough to take the gun away, at least. She reaches over the barrier and unceremoniously yanks me over, with a sound of metal on metal as my suit scrapes the crates. The next thing I know I'm sitting on the other side, staring at a pile of Alliance corpses. The marine speaks, and I can hear, behind the pain, a distinct edge of sadness. "Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams of the Systems Alliance. The geth killed the rest of my squad."

My own voice is still a little shaky, but I manage to respond. "…Duya'Hermas nar Shandal. I'm… sorry for your loss." She grunts softly, adjusting her seated position to accommodate her wound more easily – now that I'm closer, I can see it clearly; there's a chunk of the armor on her side gone, the skin underneath it charred in what looks like a painful-looking wound, with a hole of missing flesh in the center. I recognize it as an injury from one of the geth plasma rifles; the slug penetrates the body while the plasma itself cooks the flesh. I wince in sympathy and take a little medigel from one of my pockets, offering it to her. She looks surprised – from what little of her face I can see underneath her helmet, she looks pretty for a human, with dark hair and dark eyes, though her face is in a sort of dour grimace. She takes the gel and applies it to her wound with a hiss of pain as the cool substance contacts her skin. I look away, taking a bit of suit sealant from a different pocket and using it to simply and easily close the bullet hole. Luckily the skin underneath is only grazed; it shouldn't result in anything more than a low fever.

We sit in silence for a moment or two before the gunnery chief speaks up again. "…so."

"So?"

"So you're a quarian, on a human colony that's suddenly come under attack by geth. What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

"I told you, I'm on my Pilgrimage!"

"How do I know that's not some kind of code for 'I'm here to kill all the humans'?" I make a small, frustrated sound.

"It's not _code!_ It means – quarians go on a journey during our coming of age and we're supposed to bring something back to the flotilla as a gift!" The marine eyes me. "If I had wanted to kill you would I have, would I have given you medigel?!" My voice is getting a little high and panicky. I'm not used to this kind of thing. Williams seems like she believes me, though.

"…calm down, uh, Hermas." I wince. People _always_ call me by my family name – would a little familiarity be too much to ask for? "Okay, you're not going to kill me, but that doesn't make this situation any better." She gestures to the pile of marines in front of us, and back to where the dead geth lay. My brow furrows.

"…this is a colony. Why are there military here?" The gunnery chief stares at me, and I'm pretty sure she mutters 'damn quarians' under her breath.

"I'm _only_ tellin' you this because we're stuck here together and I don't know what else to do. Okay?" I nod. "My squad was here on a special mission. Before the geth got here. There's an excavation west a little, and they uncovered some kind of Prothean artifact we're supposed to be getting. A Spectre commandeered our ship, booted the captain off, and flew us out here to get the damn thing." A look of pride crosses her face – I notice that she's improved a little since the application of the medigel. "Best ship in the Alliance. It's got a Tantalus drive core, which means it's faster than any damn thing, and it can turn _invisible_."

"What? Invisible?" I'm impressed! If the humans can make ships that turn invisible, maybe there's some way we can negotiate for the technology.

"Well, not actually invisible." My face falls. "I'm not sure on the details, I'm not a tech, but it pushes all the heat inside the ship to make it so we can't be detected. Or something." She shrugs helplessly. "…anyway, we're here to find the beacon, I'm pretty sure me and one other guy are all the squad that's left, and we're missing our Spectre. So, quarian, what do we do?" I rub my visor. What _do_ we do? As a sort of answer, I poke my head up above the barrier. No more geth have showed up yet, and whatever's on the horizon is still on the horizon. I duck down again.

"…you said there's another guy in your squad? Where is he?"

"On the ship. He's a biotic, and right before we touched down he got a migraine so bad he couldn't open his eyes. So he's there in the medbay." I half-expect her to claim he was faking the headache, but no such thing is forthcoming, and she just looks at me expectantly.

"Where's your ship?" She points off to the direction I came from. "…where's the, uh, Prothean thing you were talking about?" Just as I suspected, she points in the opposite direction, and I scowl. "Well, I guess… we should get you ba – "

Williams cuts me off. "Look, Hermas. I'm here on a _mission_, and it doesn't damn well matter if I'm the only one left, I'm going to _finish_ it. I wasn't asking _what_ to do, I was asking _how_ to do it." She pats her gun and gives me a look like she's about to sock me in the jaw. "I don't know why I'm askin' you anyway! I can do this _myself!_" The marine surges to her feet and vaults the barrier, starting to jog off towards the artifact – and the giant black shape marring the heavens.

---

I don't catch up with Williams for a good while. She runs faster than I do, and I keep accidentally glancing at the yawning sky and nearly falling over. Still, she has to stop now and then to gun down oncoming geth (I take a few potshots at them with the salvaged pistol, but I'm not sure any of the bullets come anywhere near the synthetics), and eventually she has to pause to catch her breath. I teeter to a stop in front of her.

"Don't run off like that! I'm lost, and I need _your_ help even if you don't need mine!" To my immense surprise she gets up and claps me on the shoulder with a grin. I nearly fall over.

"Knew you'd come around," she says, and her voice is almost friendly. "I'll take you to the ship after we grab the artifact." As I boggle she turns back around and starts off again, a little slower, which I'm grateful for. The geth are thicker here and I actually manage to take a few down as we go. Before long she stops again, and I come up at her side, bent over to try and catch the wisps of air rasping through my filtrator. Too late I realize that the lungfuls of air I catch taste like smoke and ash, and I slowly raise my head.

We're standing on a ledge overlooking a field like it was made for the purpose; there's even a little railing preventing anyone from toppling over. On the edges of the field there are a few bits of greenery still clinging to life, some of them crackling with flames. Inward, in a huge circle, the ground has turned to glass with heat, and it reflects the shape looming above it. Thick metal tentacles grasp the ground as though they're sucking the life from the planet. The spiked top I could see all the way from the station spears obscenely up into the sky. The whole thing radiates dread, and as I stare, I see geth pouring from it – and I realize it's a ship, bigger than any I've ever seen or any I could imagine. Something is tugging at the edges of my consciousness, filling my thoughts with an insidious little buzz. "Go," I manage to grunt, shoving Williams with my elbows. "_Go! _Let's get _out!_"

The gunnery chief snaps out of her daze and makes a break for it. I manage to follow, and for what must be a good few minutes we just _run_, not looking back, barely even looking forward. When we finally stop we're well out of sight of the overlook to the field, and she and I slump onto the ground, shaking.

"What… I don't… that wasn't… I've never seen…" Williams mumbles, holding her face in her hands. I put a hand on her shoulder – what else can I do? – and squeeze. I'm not feeling too good myself, but if I lose her, then I'm gone, too. She trembles for a few more minutes while I sit and watch helplessly – the sense of overpowering dread fades quickly, but it leaves me with a sort of curious sense that I want to _return_ to the field, to watching the massive ship, but the logical part of my brain screams that that's a _very_ bad idea. I wonder if the human feels the same way. It isn't long before she gets up again and speaks, her voice still shaky. "We can… talk about it later. The mission needs to be finished."

We move on. More geth, more dead colonists. I'm starting to get desensitized to the violence, though I know it can't happen _that_ soon – I'm sure that as soon as I go without seeing a dead person for an hour or two I'll feel right as radiation filtration again. After a while we come up on a small cranny in a structure. I peer in while Williams keeps watch; inside is some kind of pillar-looking thing with a heavy base. It sparks and crackles ominously, and I'm about to approach to investigate as the Alliance marine suddenly gives a shout. When I pull back to see what's happening, a shot of plasma sizzles by me, and I look down its trajectory to see the unmistakable shape of a geth armature. Oh, Keelah.

Williams starts doing her marine thing while I flounder about. I squeeze off a few shots with my pistol, and I'm surprised to see that some actually hit, chipping good chunks of metal off the armature. We don't have enough time for those tiny shots to wear down the machine, though, so as I duck behind nearby cover I search my mind for an option. I know geth are immune to being hacked for anything more than a few seconds, so that won't work. The proximity of the other nearby geth are making the thing _dangerous_, too – it's nimbly avoiding most of the shots Williams churns out with her rifle, and by the way it's selecting cover to eliminate as if it's _taunting_ us, I decide that the shot that narrowly missed killing me outright was just it mocking us.

All at once I realize that's the solution. The geth network is advanced, but quarians are, too, and we've been trained on how to fight them. I bring up my omnitool and start to sever the armature's links to the other geth. It's slow going at first, but with every success I go faster, and soon I'm bringing them down faster than they can regain their connections. I look up, briefly – the armature is stumbling around, falling prey to more and more of Williams' shots, until she finally surges forward and delivers a final burst to the synthetic's optic sensor. It slumps to the ground, smoke billowing from the shattered glass of its eye. I stand up, wide-eyed, and the gunnery chief turns to me.

"Was that you?" she asks, looking rather surprised. I nod, and her face splits into a grin again. "Good work, Hermas."

"You're the one who brought it down, chief. I just helped." The rakish grin softens into a smile. "Now let's take a look at this thing and figure out how to get it back to your ship." I toddle my way back into the small, sheltered cranny and stand in front of the sparking thing, arms crossed. I have _no_ idea what it is, how it works, what it's supposed to do, or any way the two of us could possibly even pick it up, much less carry it all the way to wherever her ship has landed. I take a step closer to the artifact, and

**RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN GET OUT GO AWAY RUN NO NO THEY'RE COMING NO RUN THEY'LL KILL YOU THEY'LL RIP YOU TEAR YOU NO NO RUN RUN RUN RUN **

everything goes black.


	2. Normandy and the Citadel

(AN: A few things to say before we get on with this chapter, which is about fifteen hobillion times longer than I intended it to be because everything ran long and I didn't see a good place to break it up, and anyway that would involve renaming the file. I know the events in the story don't _exactly_ follow the events of the game. Duya isn't in the Alliance chain of command, so there's no way for her to be in the same places at the same times for the same reasons. Also, no one would want to read an exact copy of the game. Also also, Duya is a different person than Shepard, with different hopes, dreams, and motivations, and she reacts differently to certain events. So that's why it's not following the game as closely as some might have expected. Feel free to send me other questions – I'll answer them in other author's notes as the story goes.

Now, enjoy the THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS OF WORDS OF DIALOGUE. TALKING TALKING _TALKING TALKING TALKING_)

When I wake, it's a long few moments before my vision clears of the black pricklies of unconsciousness and the remnants of visions I don't want to remember, and eventually two shapes coalesce into my vision – a pair of humans, leaning over me. One is an older woman, with jaw-length grey-blonde hair and tired, kind eyes; the other is a younger man with thick eyebrows and dark hair who's scrunching his eyes and rubbing his temples now and then. Their expressions are a mixture of worry and confusion, and I gawp up at them before the man speaks.

"I… think she opened her eyes. Can you tell, doc?" He leans in closer just as I start to sit up, and my helmet bonks him in the forehead. He yelps and stumbles backward, and the woman looks slightly alarmed before laughing softly.

"Looks to me like she's doing just fine, Lieutenant… excepting the small fever, all her vitals are fine, and there are no breaches in the exosuit. You checked its systems over, right?" I rub my helmet where it came into contact with his head – an old reflex. The man does the same as he nods.

"The suit's not damaged at all. At least not from what _I_ can tell. You'd probably have to get another quarian to get in there and make sure."

"Well," the woman sighs, "we don't _have_ another quarian. In fact you'd be hard-pressed to find another quarian anywhere near us. So, Lieutenant, we will just have to make do with what we have, which is you, with your tech skills, and me, with my limited knowledge of alien physiology." She turns to me. "Are you feeling quite alright, miss?"

I nod slowly, still a little dazed. "How… did I… what happened?"

A familiar voice cuts in from behind me as I hear armor-heavy footsteps approaching – it's Gunnery Chief Williams. "You passed out. I had to drag your ass all the way back here, _and_ the artifact blew up after… whatever it was you did to it! I should have just left you there."

I swallow. _Oops._ "I, uh, I didn't mean to destroy it! I just… I was trying to figure out a way for us to carry it, and there was this – "

"Bright flash," Williams interrupts. "Then it floated you up in the air. After a few seconds you fell down again, passed out. What the _hell_ was going on?"

"There were… visions. I don't know. I was… afraid. It was just a lot of… pictures, all fragmented, but it looked like… there were robots, some kind of synthetics – not geth – murdering… all kinds of people. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands." Remembering the visions from the Prothean artifact isn't helping my mental state, and I groan, dropping my head into my hands. The older woman – a doctor, apparently – speaks up.

"She needs rest. Lieutenant Alenko, Gunnery Chief Williams, can you leave me with the patient for now? I'll call if I need you." The two other humans nod, and Williams gives me a look that's an odd mixture of a glare and a sympathetic glance before they leave. The doctor sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "…I'm sorry. Military, you know." She chuckles, and I can't help but smile a little. "Never know when to stop asking questions. I noticed you're running a bit of a fever?" I nod, and point to the patched section of my suit.

"Williams shot at me. She thought I was working with the geth. It's just… a little break, and a small fever, I'll be fine." I wish she could see my reassuring smile as she clucks her tongue loudly.

"I'll have to have words with her later. No shooting my patients, that's what I always say." She pats me on the back, and I'm glad for the contact even if I can't really feel it.

"I'm impressed that you know, um, _anything_ about quarians. Some people would have… taken the suit off."

She laughs. "True, no one knows much about you, but I make an effort to know how to treat, at least basically, as many species as I can. You never know when you'll pick up someone injured." When she smiles at me, lines crinkle around her eyes. "You need rest. Lay down for a while, and we'll talk more when you're feeling a little better." She slides off the bed they seem to have laid me on and nods at me as she exits the room. I lie down and curl up a bit, closing my eyes, and it's not long before I drop off into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

I jerk awake not long after – silence! Something's wrong, the air filters are broken, the engine's stopped running – but as soon as my eyes focus on the shiny brushed metal of the ship's medical bay, I remember that I'm not on the Migrant Fleet anymore and haven't been for months. I sit for a moment while my heart stops pounding before I hop off the bed and look around. The equipment is very advanced, unlike anything I've seen on the flotilla – maybe that's how the doctor was able to get my temperature without removing the suit. I _want_ to fiddle with it, but I'm afraid someone might shoot me, so I turn and head towards the medbay door.

Outside, there's a long table, and a large hall filled with sleeper pods. This must be the crew deck. No one is here, though, not even at the engineering terminal near the sleeper pods. There's a staircase nearby, so I ascend it – I find it leads to the main deck, where a platform, where presumably the commanding officer stands, looms over an area surrounded by crew stations. There's no one here, either, and I start to get a creeping feeling that something might be wrong. I approach the command platform to get a better look, and I catch snatches of voice from a nearby room. _Aha!_ I make my way back, around the dividing wall, and stick my head into the room as soon as the door opens for me – the whole crew is in there, including Williams, Alenko, and the doctor. They're clustered around a hologram of what must be an Alliance officer, dark-skinned, with very short hair. I can only catch a little conversation about Spectres, geth, and two people called 'Saren' and 'Nihlus' before the holo catches sight of me, gestures to the rest of the crew, and everyone goes silent.

"Here's our guest of honor," the holo says, in a deep, commanding, though pleasant voice. "Come in, come in." I go in, acutely aware of everyone's eyes on me. One of the crew members, who has some epaulets on his shoulders, is giving me a more paranoid look than the rest. I try to ignore him as I carefully make my way into the crowd. "Now that you're here," the holo says, "I can update you on the situation. You are on _SSV Normandy_, an experimental Systems Alliance stealth cruiser. Gunnery Chief Williams says she's told you the specifics – " he pauses to give Williams a rather stern look, and she shrinks back – "so I won't bore you. The gist of it is that you are now, essentially, an asset. From the information we've pieced together, mostly from Gunnery Chief Williams' experiences on Eden Prime, there was another Spectre, Saren Arterius, on the planet at the time of the attack. Apparently the two of you saw his ship unloading geth?" I nod, and my mouth starts to feel dry as I realize I've gotten caught up in something far, far bigger than just a Pilgrimage. "That means Saren was responsible for the attack on the colony. In addition, the Spectre that commandeered _Normandy_ was found murdered. We don't know how he fits into this yet, but we think that Saren may have been looking for the beacon – the attack ended shortly after you and Williams arrived here. Whatever you have, he was looking for. I'm sorry, Miss Hermas, but you'll have to stay with the Alliance for the time being." Suddenly I feel a little dizzy. I don't know what to do, what to say. "_Normandy_ is currently en route to the Citadel. Once you're there, I expect the Council will want to speak to you. Until then, make yourself comfortable. Anderson out."

The holo vanishes. There's a long few minutes of awkward silence. Someone coughs, then the crew starts to disperse. I'm left standing with Williams, the doctor, and Lieutenant Alenko, who stands behind Williams like I'm about to bite him or something. The younger woman approaches me slowly. "…look, Hermas," she begins. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have got you involved in this, you're just a Goddamn civilian." She puts a hand on my uninjured shoulder, and I don't stop her. "Not much I can do to make it up to you. I _guess_ I can show you around and introduce you to everybody, but…"

A little buoy of hope lifts my heart. A real, live group of people I'll be _staying_ with, that I can really get to know – not like the brief stints on merchant scows and smuggled away in the holds of cruisers, where anyone you meet will be gone in a month or even less. This might be the single bright spot in my technical captivity… aside from hopefully being able to examine the beautiful _Normandy_, that is. I nod at Williams.

"Here's a good a place to start as any. You, uh, already know these two." She gestures to the two remaining occupants of the room. "Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko and Doctor Chakwas." She leans in with a conspiratorial smirk. "…I don't think she has a first name. Either that or it's something like 'Redrum.'"

I introduce myself to the both of them. We shake hands briefly, and Alenko nods at me. Chakwas smiles, kind and sympathetic, and Alenko actually deigns to speak to me. "I, uh, looked at your suit. We've got some extra parts lying around here, so if you want to fix it up a little I'll… be around." He bobs his head at me. Chakwas mouths "checking on his migraines" as she follows. By the time Williams leads me out they've vanished down the stairs.

"So, this is the combat information deck," she explains. The crew is back at their stations. "The commander stands up on that platform, but right now we don't have one, since Anderson's at the Citadel and that Spectre got killed." She gestures to one of the men clustered around the main area. "That guy there is Navigator Pressly. He's the one who figures out how to get where we're going." We move over to investigate – he's engrossed in something at his terminal and doesn't see us coming, and when I get close I can see what's on his screen. Instead of being important mass relay paths or fuel gauges or something like I expected, he appears to be playing some kind of game. From what I can tell, his character – a human – seems to simply be running around in a city filled with other people and towering buildings with a distinctly blocky architectural style.

Williams smirks, then clears her throat. Pressly moves so quickly I can barely see him, the game vanishing from his screen to be replaced by a miniature map of the galaxy. He stands at attention facing us like he's always been there. "Ten-hut, Gunnery Chief!" The poor man is standing so stiffly it looks like he'd topple over if I poked him.

"At ease, Pressly," the woman laughs. He drops his stance, though not by much. "I'm showing our guest around." She puts particular emphasis on 'guest,' perhaps to make me feel better. It works, a little.

Pressly salutes me stiffly. "Good to have you on board, miss!" His cheerful tone is ridiculously forced, and even back here and behind my visor I can see the distrust in his eyes. I don't want the people I'm staying with to hate me – it might be a _big_ ship by quarian standards, at least as far as I can tell, but it's still a ship, and if someone gets homicidally insane there's nowhere to run. So, I decide to try and make friends with him – or at least to get that horrible expression off his face.

"What were you playing?" I ask. He seems surprised, but he glances over to Williams and winces – she must be giving him a death glare, because when he cuts his eyes back to me he sighs and mumbles something I can't hear. "What?" I blink a few times.

"_Galaxy of Fantasy_," he mutters. "It's an… online game. Based on turian mythology, but they've added a lot more since release." Pressly looks away again, shuffling from foot to foot, but it's unlucky for him that now he's got me interested. I press on, and it's a good ten minutes before I've extracted from him all the information I want, and I begin downloading the game onto my heavily-modified omnitool. The ETA is a couple of _days_, unfortunately, so I've got a while to wait to see what could so interest the navigator. I look over at Williams and see that she's just about falling asleep standing up.

"Thank you, sir," I say, bobbing my head a couple of times, genuflecting just in case. He starts to turn away, but the gunnery chief stops him.

"Anderson wants to see you," she tells him. His eyes get wide. "It's nothing bad… at least, I don't think." She grins and chucks him on the arm as he scurries off toward the communications room.

"…is he in trouble?" I look after him, but the wall blocks my line of sight.

Williams shrugs. "No idea. Anderson just said that there was something important he needed to talk to Pressly about, alone. He told me before the big meeting." I nod. "Now," she grins, as we start to walk towards the bridge, "let's meet the most important guy on the ship. At least _he_ thinks he is."

A male voice hollers out from the helm. "I heard that!" The uncomfortable-looking pilot's chair swings around, and I can see who's sitting in it – a young man with a stubbly beard and a cap branded with the ship's designation, SR-1. He doesn't get up to greet us. "This is our quarian, huh?" He looks me up and down, and I shift a bit. "You sure don't _look_ like a political prisoner." He sticks his hand out. "Joker. Don't shake too hard or you might rip my hand off." I was starting to put my hand into his for a shake, but his warning makes me jump back. He cackles with glee. "Sorry. Fragile bones, long story, need to be careful." The man waves his hand dismissively. "Anyway, _Normandy_'s my baby. Put your hands on her and you'll have to answer to me. Otherwise, you're good." I nod, trying not to let on that I'm completely terrified of him. As I retreat my head keeps nodding seemingly of its own accord.

"Nice to meet you," I manage to squawk just as I duck around the corner, safely out of sight. Williams follows.

"Don't like him, huh?" She laughs. "He can be a handful, but he's the best damn pilot in the Alliance. Anderson picked him out specifically for _Normandy_."

"Wow. What was he talking about, fragile bones? Is there something wrong with him?"

"He's got this thing called Vrolik syndrome. His bones are really brittle, and he can barely walk without his legs fracturing everywhere."

I wince. "Keelah, that's terrible. I guess piloting is a good job for him, though. No wonder he's so good at it."

The marine chuckles a bit. "Yeah. Don't tease him about it, though. He makes fun of it himself because he's sensitive." I nod, understanding – some quarians are like that about their immune systems, so I'm used to stepping lightly around certain subjects. "That's about it for the crew, though. We've got a head engineer, his name is Adams, but we ate a few shots from the geth when we were taking off and he's trying to make sure everything's in order."

"What do I do now?"

"Whatever you want, as far as I can tell. Anderson probably wouldn't want you looking _too_ close at the systems, but if you take a peek or two I'm sure no one'll mind, as long as you don't pass on our secrets. You wouldn't, right?" She fixes me with a glare. "I didn't think so. We've got a while left until we get to the Citadel, so just… don't go anywhere." I laugh softly and nod to her before she tosses me a very loose salute and strides off.

The next few hours are spent exploring the ship. I'm most interested in the sleeper pods on the crew deck – only a few of the ships on the Fleet are fitted with pods, and I'm fascinated at how many can be packed into a small space. I ask one of the nearby engineers if I can take some schematics of them, and he doesn't seem to mind, so I upload them to my omnitool in anticipation of taking them back. I'm not allowed to see the weapons, and engineering is temporarily closed off until Adams can get everything back to tip-top shape.

While I'm looking around the combat information center and peering at the galaxy map projected in the air, Navigator Pressly gets up on the commander's platform. I stop to watch him, curious as to what he's doing. He shifts around a moment, grasps the railing, wrings his hands out. It takes him a moment to shake out his nerves before he begins to speak, and his voice echoes throughout the whole ship via use of the intercom system.

"As some of you may know, in the absence of Captain Anderson and the death of Nihlus I've been appointed acting captain." His voice is a tad shaky, but as he speaks it grows confidence. "It's a great honor to be in command of you all, however temporary. I know what we saw on Eden Prime has disturbed you all, and I've heard the reports of Saren's attack. We're about to step into something big, but I know you all can handle it, whatever part you end up playing and whomever ends up commanding you." He raises his fist. "_Normandy_ can take whatever the geth throw at it!"

His speech draws a loud cheer from the crew – I can even hear the people in lower decks hollering, and I find myself caught up in it as well, waving my arms in the air. Pressly looks surprised at the overwhelmingly positive response, and he salutes firmly, tears in his eyes. He whirls around and steps confidently from the platform, going off to parts unknown presumably to be briefed on what'll happen when we dock at the Citadel.

I can't help but be enthused. Even though I'm not with the Alliance in any kind of official capacity despite the fact that I'm being made to stay on their ship (and I _know_ I should be offended at that, should send some kind of communiqué to the Fleet to let them know of this injustice, but it feels like such an adventure I can't bear to take myself out of it), I want them to do well, I want to help in this impossible fight against a man with army and authority. My logical brain tells me I'm being overdramatic, that the Council will send some help – after all, it's only one ship, no matter how many geth there are on it and no matter who's helming it. I hope they'll let me go before the actual combat starts, anyway – I've just learned how useless I am at it.

With Pressly's little speech done, everyone returns to work, and I once again have nothing to do. I decide to use one of the sleeper pods to take a nap. They seem quite comfortable, though I can't really tell through my suit, but when it's shut the already-quiet ship is muffled further. At least it's a tighter space, and I feel more comfortable. I doze off.

I must have slept longer than I meant to. I don't even notice the pod opening, and when I open my eyes I'm being held up by an irritated-looking Williams. "When I said do whatever you want, I didn't mean _hibernate_. C'mon, we've docked at the Citadel, everyone's waiting." I step out of her arms, embarrassed at myself, and follow as she leads me through the ship and up the stairs to the airlock.

My first view of the Citadel is interrupted by the man I saw on the holo – Anderson – standing directly in front of the docking bridge, flanked by two Alliance marines. "Duya'Hermas," he says. "Keelah nat'el'lai." I stop in my tracks, surprised. He grins at me, looking quite pleased with himself. "I read everything I could find on the extranet about quarians once I found out about you. You'd be surprised how little there is. You're a very secretive people." He steps forward and offers his hand. "Captain David Anderson. Good to finally see you in person." We shake. I'm still stunned to silence – in my short time outside the flotilla, no one has ever expressed an interest in our culture. He gestures for Williams and me to follow, the two marines staying a little further back as we walk down the docking platform, and as we enter the elevator he begins to talk again. "We've got an update on the situation – the Council has requested an audience with you and Williams. They expect you to deliver testimony regarding what you saw on Eden Prime."

I briefly take inventory in my head of what we actually _saw_. The geth ship, the beacon, the bucketloads of dead synthetics. Before I can speak, though, Williams' voice filters quietly through my helmet. "They want to know why a Spectre would attack a human colony."

There's a moment of awkward silence. Then Anderson simply says "yes." He sighs and rolls his shoulders. "Saren's a known human-hater, but that doesn't do a _thing_ to justify his invasion and near-destruction of an almost-undefended colony of one of the Citadel races. Ambassadors Udina and – "

He's cut off when the elevator door hisses open and an argument floods into the cab. Apparently the docks are above the Citadel Security headquarters – _many_ floors above, judging by how long that ride took – and on the main floor of the building a turian and a krogan have gotten into a quarrel. The turian's dressed in what I assume is a C-Sec uniform by the emblem on the shoulder – though the reticle over his left eye seems a little unorthodox - and the krogan has on some very pockmarked armor that matches well with the scars on his head plate. Just as we're stepping out of the elevator a couple of agents take the krogan by the shoulders and try to drag him backward. They make absolutely no progress until the krogan grunts dismissively in the turian's face and turns around, letting the C-Sec men think they're leading him away.

The turian rubs his hands over his face, flanges twitching nervously. When he drops his arms he catches sight of Anderson. The human strides towards him and they clasp hands, shaking firmly and clapping each other on the back. Anderson yells "Garrus!" at the same time as the turian yells "David!," and I find myself incredibly surprised as they begin to talk like they've known each other their whole lives.

"It's just not been my day," the turian sighs. "First Pallin tears a strip off of me for the way I investigate, then we bring that krogan in for a routine checkover – I mean ,he's a _known mercenary_, we do this every time he comes – and he gets all upset and starts _shouting_ at me." I didn't think turians could pout, but he manages it as Anderson pats him on the shoulder.

"We have some more information about Saren for you," the dark-skinned human says almost cheerfully. "My ship's in Dock 53. _Normandy_. Go up there, tell them I sent you, and the XO will take you to Lieutenant Alenko. He'll catch you up." Garrus' brow ridges rise and his whole face brightens. He snaps a quick salute to Anderson and jogs behind us to the elevator. The human barely has time to return the salute before the elevator door slides shut. He chuckles softly and shakes his head as we keep walking.

"Who was that?" I ask.

"Garrus Vakarian. He's a C-Sec agent, a little bit of a loose cannon. Good man, though. We met when he started investigating the crimes Saren committed. Of course Spectres are supposed to be outside the law, so C-Sec doesn't exactly appreciate him sticking his nose in there." He shakes his head.

I bite my bottom lip in thought. "Who exactly _is_ this Saren anyway? I mean, I gathered that he's a Spectre and he's probably the one who attacked Eden Prime, but…"

"Saren is a monster. He'll do _anything_ to get the results he thinks he needs, including killing civilians. He's been a Spectre for twenty-four years, and he's hated humans for every one of them. He thinks we're moving up too quickly. I never thought he'd go so far as to actually _attack_ a human colony, but…" Anderson sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sympathy for him wells up inside me – he must be as stressed as I am, and this is the first time he's shown it.

"Don't worry, Captain," Williams pipes up. "We'll take that bastard down and make him pay." Anderson smiles weakly, and the conversation lulls while we go through a series of hallways and elevators until we eventually come out in the Presidium Ring.

Quarians aren't usually allowed in the Presidium, from what I hear. The Council hasn't liked us very much since the whole business with the geth, and now we're profiled against on the _whole_ Citadel. They even took away our embassy for a while. So for the past three hundred years I figure there've been about ten of us in here. The warrens of the Wards feel enough like a spaceship that I haven't been too disoriented, but when we ascend the small ramp into the open 'air' of the ring, a bout of dizziness hits me again. It looks, for all intents and purposes, like a park planetside – there's grass, trees, ponds, people chatting on benches, there are even _clouds_. I slow down so much when I start looking around that Anderson and Williams have to wait, standing at the edge of one of the nearby bridges. Williams grins and waves me forward; I blush underneath my visor as I hurry up. It's a lucky thing she got me when she did, because an elcor ambled by where I had been – it would have taken an hour to wait for him to pass.

The Citadel Tower isn't that far away from the wards access, so we - I - don't have much time to gawp. They nearly have to pull me into the elevator. At least the front of the shaft is transparent, because the ride to the Council chamber is even longer than the one from the docks. Eventually I turn around and look through the window at the other side – some of the floors don't have access doors, at least not here, but I can clearly see the machinery inside. These must be the inaccessible areas I've heard about, where the keepers do their maintenance. I'm not sure I like the idea of us not knowing what's going on inside an ancient relic on which millions of people live, but there isn't really anything, as far as I can tell, to be done about it. I'm crouching down trying to continue peeking through the receding window when we reach the summit of the tower and the elevator door opens. A couple of the (what I presume must be) dignitaries stare at me, which makes me surge to my feet and pretend like I wasn't doing anything.

The Council chamber is even lovelier than the Presidium, with trees in full bloom, but again we don't have much time to look around. In the distance, up several flights of stairs, I can vaguely see a gigantic hologram. I get a better view of it when Anderson hustles me and Williams up the stairs – I'm the only one who gets out of breath – and onto the petitioner's platform.

The holo is of a turian, who seems to have a synthetic arm, along with various other little pieces all over his body. I assume this must be Saren. He's being projected to the left of the Council, who are all physically in attendance – from the left, a cross-looking turian, an asari-looking asari, and a salarian in a robe. As we come to a stop at the edge of the platform, the turian sneers at us.

"Finally the prosecution arrives," he says. "Now we just wait for the ambassadors to get here and we can start." He leans down a little from his platform, his avian eyes boring straight into me. His face comes more into the light and I can see how heavily it's decorated with paint. "Is this the quarian who's supposed to have that recording?"

"No, Councilor," the asari replies. Her voice is light and gentle. "This is the other quarian. The one who was on Eden Prime, remember?"

"Oh." The turian leans back and frowns. His 'oh' is full of contempt, and even the asari's words are thick with subtle discrimination. I feel sick to my stomach. Williams and Anderson aren't looking at me or even at the Council – their eyes are fixed on the holo. It doesn't yet say anything.

We all stand around awkwardly for a while before I hear footsteps behind me. The turian councilor throws his arms up and rolls his eyes; the asari smiles and shifts on her feet; the salarian crosses his arms over his chest. I turn to take a look. One of them is a fairly normal-looking human, but the other –

My eyes go wide and my knees get weak. It's Nede'Terus nar Qwib Qwib! I knew he was our ambassador here, but I didn't really expect to _meet_ him, not in person. His sashes are thick with inscriptions of his achievements; even an outsider would be able to tell that the swirls and lines mean something more than just decoration. They catalogue his life in more detail than most quarians', especially ones who are still on their Pilgrimage. He set off as a young man to earn us a spot on the Council. Nearly fifty-five years later he's still not finished, but he's regained our embassy, become ambassador, and gained us innumerable little freedoms – without him, we might not even be allowed onto the Citadel at _all_. He's every quarian's hero, and I nearly pass out as he walks over to stand beside me. The human ambassador stands behind his own people.

Anderson nods to the ambassador. "Udina." Udina nods back, wordlessly. I try to greet my ambassador in the same way, but all that comes out is a high-pitched squawk. He chuckles lowly; he must be able to see my bright red cheeks through the visor, but at least he's good enough not to say anything about it.

Finally, the holo speaks. Saren's voice is so low as to be bone-shaking. "Are we ready to get on with this unfounded trial?"

"It's not becoming of the defendant to be so disrespectful," the salarian says.

The turian-holo lets out a long sigh. "My apologies." He clearly isn't sorry. "I simply don't know why I'm here. I would _never_ attack a human colony, or any other colony, for that matter."

"Well," the asari says patiently. "We'll see about that. What evidence is the defense presenting against Saren Arterius?"

"The body of Nihlus Kryik," Udina says. He sounds clipped and nasal in a way that makes me want to clear my throat. "We are not in possession of it, I believe _you_ have it, but he was clearly murdered."

Saren scoffs. "Murdered? Perhaps by the geth _crawling_ all over the colony! I would _never_ murder a fellow turian, much less a fellow Spectre! Do you have _evidence_ I murdered my protégé?" No one says anything.

"Evidence dismissed," snaps the turian councilor. "Anything else?"

Williams speaks up. "We saw Saren's ship! There were thousands of geth coming out of it!"

The salarian steeples his fingers. "You saw it?"

"Yes! And it was making some Godawful noise – "

"Do you have proof?" Saren interrupts her. His voice is calm. Again, no one says anything.

"Evidence dismissed," the asari says. She seems almost sad. Finally, I decide to put forth my trump card.

"The Prothean beacon on the planet – what the Alliance, Nihlus, _and_ the geth were looking for – I used it, and I had a vision! A vision of synthetics ripping apart organics, and, and – " my brain hurts remembering it, but I press on – "and Saren's ship, that huge black tentacle thing, was in it! That _has_ to count for something!"

"A _vision_? Are we accepting _dreams_ into evidence now?" Saren laughs, and the sound completely takes the solar wind out of my sails. I feel more like crying than ever.

"Saren," Nede'Terus says, in the warm, rich voice prevalent on the few quarian extranet vids that exist. "My people would greatly appreciate it if you did not condescend to us. If Duya'Hermas had a vision of your ship, then you should answer to her testimony." Saren doesn't get a chance to respond before the salarian preemptively cuts him off.

"Miss Hermas may very well have received this vision, but no matter its veracity, there is no way for us to _prove_ it." His tone is apologetic even if his facial expression doesn't much change. "Evidence dismissed."

"Do you have any other _accusations?_" Saren says gruffly. He's looking right at me. All at once I realize, as his eyes seem to drill straight through my exosuit, that he didn't actually know it was _me_ who ended up getting the beacon, and I've just given myself away trying to incriminate him. A slow shiver crawls up my spine and I step slightly back. Nede'Terus moves to the side, a little in front of me.

"We're finished here," Anderson says. The holo blinks out without another word; the Council bows to us and turns, walking away from their podiums. I simply stare up at where they were.

"…what was that the turian said about a quarian with a recording?" Williams' voice breaks the silence.

"She encountered the geth and was able to retrieve a memory core from one of them," Nede'Terus explains. My eyebrows shoot up so far they nearly cause another suit puncture. Though getting geth memory isn't as difficult as some people make it out to be – we did _make_ them, after all – it still isn't easy, especially if you're running around on some planet full of them. I'm intrigued for another reason, though – another quarian! Nede'Terus is amazing and everything, but I'm a little too intimidated by him to just _talk_. Maybe this new girl and I could be friends. While I'm lost in thought everyone else, as usual, keeps going. "Supposedly, it contains evidence against Saren. She wants to sell it to the Shadow Broker so he will protect her from him, but what she does not know is that the agent acting as the Broker's hand is going to betray her. I have been trying to get C-Sec assistance to go and get her, but… you know how it goes, yes?" He lets out a long, rattling sigh; I feel rather bad for him.

"Well!" Williams grins. "I'm a Marine, Hermas's a pretty good shot with a pistol" (blatant lies; I wince) "and the Captain ain't too shabby either. We don't need the cops to save one little quarian!" I decide not to remind her how much trouble saving 'one little quarian' has already gotten us into. Nede'Terus chuckles lowly and bows to us before he speaks again.

"I appreciate your help… although I suppose it is no coincidence that you will also be assisting yourselves. I do not know her location at the moment, but I do know where you can find it out – Chora's Den, in the Wards. The man who is about to betray her – Fist is his name - is there, and I wager that he will know."

"A wretched hive of – " Anderson begins, but he's cut off when Williams laughs and slaps me on the back. I almost fall over.

"I've been needing a drink since Eden Prime!" the marine crows. Ambassador Udina narrows his eyes.

"This is not an occasion for… getting _smashed_, Gunnery Chief Williams," he says, his voice clipped. "This is a mission, and you will be expected to perform as such." He folds his arms over his chest and I hear his tight-fitting uniform squeak with the motion. Williams gives him a Look, but it doesn't seem to have any effect.

The journey back down to the Wards is uneventful, aside from the scenery, which I haven't gotten used to yet. Nede'Terus follows us a little ways before letting us go with polite bows and a handshake for me – I vow never to wash that bit of my suit again – but Udina apparently has more important business to take care of. The corridor outside Chora's Den is huge, and I figure there must be big lines to warrant such a use of space – but right now they're totally empty. Anderson stops us as we near the door, and he narrows his eyes, listening.

"…silent," he says after a few minutes. "They must know we're coming." His hand goes to his sidearm, and Williams follows his lead, grabbing her rifle from her back. I draw my ill-gotten marine pistol, just in case. Williams takes point as we approach the door, which slides open to reveal… an empty bar. Glasses are turned over, bottles are smashed, and as I glance further downward I see the corpses of several guards.

"What the hell?" Williams grunts, jostling one of them with her boot. She rolls the dead man over to reveal that most of his chest has been taken out by an immense gunshot wound, and I nearly throw up in my helmet. I go one way and she goes the other around the circular center bar, both of us trying to figure out what's happened, and Anderson makes his way toward a door near the back. It hisses open with his approach, and he leans his head slightly past the doorframe, out of my sight. It doesn't take long before he jerks back again and catches my eyes and William's, holding his palm out to hush us, then gesturing us towards him. We both go as ordered, me feeling my heart pounding in my chest and Williams looking like she's about to shoot something. I wonder why we're being so quiet – until, at least, we get a little into the back hallway (cluttered with the bodies of more heavily-armed guards) and I can hear voices. One is low and gruff, vaguely familiar, and the other is high-pitched with animal fear; they're too muffled for me to distinguish any words. At Anderson's further order we continue down, stepping over bodies and fallen tables.

When the last door opens, I realize why the deeper voice was familiar – it's the krogan from the C-Sec headquarters, spattered in blood and holding a large shotgun against the head of a cowering human. At least until we enter, that is – he swings the gun toward us and I don't realize until I hear the clatter on the ground that I've dropped my pistol and held my hands up, palm-out.

"Who are _you_?" he snarls, shaking the gun at us. Williams is still pointing her own at him, and his beady eyes seem to be fixed on her; Anderson takes the opportunity to step just the slightest bit closer.

"We're here for Fist," he says in the most dulcet tones I've ever heard him use. The krogan snort-laughs and points at the other human, who's now cowering in the corner. He doesn't look much like any kind of agent for anyone; in fact I think he's wet himself.

"What a co-incidence, so am I," the krogan says, a distinct smirk tugging at his lizardy lips. "I'm here to kill 'im. Whadda _you_ need?"

I decide to risk speaking up. "His men are going after someone we need."

"That quarian? Ain't you her?" I shake my head vigorously. "Well, then that means she didn't get out like I thought. Shit." He glares at Fist. "Look, I don't got a quarrel with the Alliance, and none with any quarians. I got a job to take _this_ guy out, and I'm avoidin' _collateral_ this time. More trouble'n it's worth on the Citadel." He stomps over to the cowering human and puts his weapon to the man's forehead. I barely have time to squawk "wait!" before he's pulled the trigger and suddenly something red and squidgy splatters on my visor. Again I have to force my gorge down – puking in your helmet is more trouble than it's worth, I tell you – but Williams and Anderson don't look particularly fazed; in fact I can just barely hear Williams muttering "damn krogans." Meanwhile, the krogan mercenary goes through the now-headless Fist's pockets, slipping his credit chit into a pouch on his belt when he thinks none of us are watching.

"I'll take you to 'er," he grunts. "Job here's done, and there'll be hell to pay if I gotta meet with that ruttin' turian again." Straightening up and rolling his shoulders, then wiping a few bloody chunks off his face, he stomps towards the door. Anderson nods; I don't have the heart to disagree with the two men much bigger than me, though I'm not entirely sure about following a mercenary, and Williams isn't saying anything, so I grab my pistol from its place on the floor and we go.

We end up in an alley barely big enough for Williams and me to stand side by side. The krogan takes up nearly the entire hallway in front of us, so we can't see where we're going or whether or not he's leading us into some kind of horrible trap. The lighting gets dimmer as we walk until it takes on a reddish tinge; I figure we must be in some kind of maintenance hallway. The krogan stops us as we approach a stairway, and he turns around, easily negotiating his bulk in the small space.

"More mercs," he says in as low a voice as he can manage. It shakes my bones. "We'll have to take 'em out to get her. There are four of 'em and four of us, so we're gonna do this real quick and easy-like, got it?" All three of us nod, and before I can ask which one I should take, the krogan charges forth, down the staircase and into one of the black-clad mercenaries. There's a nasty crunch as the pile of flesh slams into the opposite wall. Williams is close behind him, the familiar bark of her assault rifle sounding off; Anderson opts to stay crouched by the wall at the top of the stairs and fire down at them. In the mess I see an exosuit being terrorized by someone no one is shooting at; I grab my own pistol and fire a shot that goes nowhere near my target. The report echoing in the small space makes me jump and my finger constricts again, the unexpected bullet clipping the man in the leg. He shrieks and falls down, and the krogan, surging back to assist with the man Anderson's just picked off, steps right on his chest. With one awful crunch I'm sure I'll hear every night for a while, the fight is over. All of us stare on in horror as the krogan simply removes his foot from the pulped mass and drags it clean on the floor, then chuckles to himself.

"That was easy," he remarks. He turns to the other quarian, but I find that my legs have taken me to her already, and I'm reflexively reading her sashes. I'm surprised to find that she's the daughter of Rael'Zorah, one of the members of the Admiralty Board – close to royalty as we really get, anymore. Her name is Tali'Zorah, and she's on her Pilgrimage, too, from _Rayya_. Obviously something's gone horribly wrong, though. The rest of it is stuff only of use to captains or higher-ups, a list of her achievements, praise from the captain of _Rayya_ for her genius technical ability. I know she's looking at my sashes, too, without searching out her eyes behind her visor, and I know she won't find anything interesting – I'm just a mechanic, not even as good as her, not the daughter of anyone special or on any special ship. I glower jealously for just a moment until I see her trembling, in fear or some kind of attack of nerves or something, and then I'm filled with a strange sense of protectiveness.

"Hey," I say to her, gently.

"Hey," she responds, her voice trembling.

"Are you alright?" Anderson practically shouts as he jogs over the fallen corpses to us. The krogan is rifling through the bodies again, and Williams stands guard just in case more thugs show up. Tali'Zorah nods at Anderson. "I don't want to drag you out when you've just almost been shot," he continues, his voice lowering when he's standing nearer to us, "but there's a rogue Spectre who needs to be stopped and – "

"That's what I've been trying to _do_," Tali'Zorah interrupts, her voice full of relief. "His geth are after me since I got this recording!"

"Don't worry," Williams says cheerfully, patting Tali'Zorah on the back. "Me and your new quarian buddy killed about a hundred geth on Eden Prime, so even wh – _if_ Saren catches wind of you, not even his army can stop us!"

"A-actually," I squeak, "it was more like ninety-nine to her and one to – "

Williams knocks me halfway across the hall with a hip-bump.

"Eden Prime was a major victory! The beacon has brought us one step closer to finding the Conduit."

"That's Saren's voice," Anderson and Williams say in unison. Tali'Zorah nods. "That proves he was involved in the attack," the captain snarls. The images of the Council before us look shocked, but there's less surprise in it than I had imagined.

"Wait," the machinist says. "There's more." She taps at her omnitool and another voice plays, a female one unfamiliar to me.

"…and one step closer to the return of the Reapers." I glance around the briefing room of _Normandy_ – Anderson, Williams, Pressly, Alenko, and myself are all clustered around the pedestals that're currently broadcasting projections of the Council. Tali'Zorah stands front and center as she plays her recording. As the second voice speaks, the image of the asari councilor's face contorts.

"Benezia," she says, her voice little more than a hiss. The other two councilors grimace, and at our obvious confusion, the asari explains. "She's a matriarch. One of the most powerful. I… never expected her to be working with Saren. Excuse me." The councilor steps to the side, out of the range of her transmitter, and then the turian and salarian are standing without her. They both look distinctly uncomfortable, especially the salarian.

After a moment's silence, he speaks, sounding perturbed. "This is a… unique circumstance. Very unique. Publically accusing Saren of the misdeeds that have now come to light based on the deeds of the Alliance would have…"

"_Extreme_ political consequences," the turian growls.

"Exactly. Not to mention the possible retribution from whatever other allies he might have. We need someone to pursue him… unofficially."

"A Spectre?" Williams says, her brow furrowing.

"A Spectre," the salarian answers. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Nihlus' original purpose in commandeering your ship, Anderson, was to, ah, _vet_ one of the Alliance personnel onboard for the purposes of electing our first human Spectre." A murmur passes through the room; I stay silent, as out of the loop as I'm suddenly finding myself. "He would have told you this himself had he not met his untimely end. You would have continued to complete several assignments under his watch; the time for that is over. Action needs to be taken _now_."

As the tingling air of something important about to happen fills the room, the salarian councilor leans to the side as well; the sight of his hologram's head apparently having been chopped off makes me stifle a laugh. He says something that's barely picked up by his audio sensors, and a moment later the asari returns, dabbing at her eyes with a cloth that she swiftly returns to a pocket of her uniform. She clears her throat.

"Captain David Edward Anderson," she says, lifting her chin. "You were previously considered for the post of Spectre, under the tutelage of Saren Arterius." I wince. _No wonder Anderson hates him so much._ "You were rejected due to some… unsavory events during your trial period." Anderson stands up as straight as ever, but the corners of his mouth turn down just the slightest bit. "However, with the new information we have received regarding Saren… it is the decision of the Council that you be granted all the powers and privileges of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance Branch of the Citadel." Her mouth quirks up in the slightest of smiles. "Congratulations."

Whatever Anderson was expecting, it clearly wasn't _that_. He looks like he's going to pass out, and so does Williams. Pressly and Alenko are merely goggle-eyed.

"This is… an honor, Councilors," Anderson manages. "I will try to honor the position, and I will bring Saren _down_."

"I am sure you will," the turian says icily, his bird-like eyes fixed on Anderson. "You are dismissed… for now. Expect to be contacted again." The holograms blink out. Everything is silent for several heartbeats.

"Holy _shit_" are the words Williams chooses to break the lull. "You just… you're a… congrats, Captain!" She flings her arms around him and thumps him on the back several times. He pats her awkwardly, still looking stunned. The other Alliance personnel cluster around him, cheering and clapping, and carry him out on their shoulders. He's stiff as a board the whole time.

In the silence, Tali'Zorah sidles over to me. "…so… what now?"

"I have no idea."


End file.
